


My Bitter Half

by HMS AUs (HMSquared)



Series: The Hounds of Vegas Universe [15]
Category: Original Work, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Backstory, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Murder, Pre-Slash, Prequel, References to Depression, Sexuality, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 08:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMSquared/pseuds/HMS%20AUs
Summary: The histories of Finn and Devitt.
Series: The Hounds of Vegas Universe [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1401376
Kudos: 1





	My Bitter Half

**Author's Note:**

> I always intended Finn to have dissociative identity disorder; since demons aren't real in this universe, DID was the only option.
> 
> Between the writing of "The Hounds of Vegas" and "The Day It Started," I have learned about and gotten so much more respect for DID. While there were a few creative liberties, I tried to portray it realistically.
> 
> Enjoy!

The bus’ outside was an orange color; the seats inside were plush black. At 5:45 p.m., a faint glow from the setting sun shone in. There weren’t many people on the bus: a woman and her six-year-old son sat in one aisle; three stoner kids were in the back, quietly listening to music. And sitting on the right side, head against the window, was a sleeping Irishman.

Finn’s right pointer finger and thumb were squeezing his left thumb. His eyelids softly fluttered, not registering the outside world. His brain was discombobulated, but quiet for once.

The bus went over a pothole, causing a small jump and a dream to take shape. A room...he was in a dark room with only a red lightbulb to keep him company. The lamp above Finn swayed, everything blurry.

 _No._ Something tugged and tore at his insides. _You’re not allowed to remember. You_ **_can’t_ ** _remember._ The bus jolted again, shaking the Irishman awake in a cold sweat.

They lived in a house on the end of the Strip, far from the clubs but close enough to the noise. Rubbing his eyes, Finn grabbed the metal pole to steady himself and pushed himself onto his feet. He felt heavy and wanted desperately to get home.

The sun was darker now in Finn’s eyes. Putting his hands in his pockets, he walked out of the bus station and down the sidewalk. Down toward the crapsack apartment they called home.

It had been a long day, which wasn’t unusual. Finn spent hours at work, trying to prove his worth. Trying to prove he wouldn’t have another episode.

The opinions of his coworkers didn’t matter much. He had always been a loner, always preferred dark corners. Mainly, Finn was trying to satisfy himself. Trying to convince himself that he still deserved to live.

The apartment door opened, his feet crossing the threshold. Time to sit down and get some rest.

Devitt. That was the name he had given himself, the name Finn had told his therapist during their first mandatory session. And man, was he a trip.

The details of Devitt’s creation were simple, yet complicated. He was the one who held the shreds of their past. He was the one created to keep Finn safe.

35 years ago, Finn Bálor had been a simple man. He lived in Ireland with his parents and four siblings. Everyone was close and kind. At first glance, you couldn’t have said he would develop dissociative identity disorder.

At the age of six, Finn and his family went on a trip to Japan. His memories of that week were blurry; the only memory Devitt let him keep was the kidnapping itself. Not as a method of torture, but as a symbol of how proud he was.

It began as a simple mugging. Walking back to the hotel one evening, Finn and his father were pushed into an alley. Men in leather jackets wanted money from them. Shouting...lots of shouting. Then everything grew quiet.

They wanted Finn. A new prodigy was needed, and he would be perfect. He was dragged from the alley with a cloth over his mouth, thrown into the back of a van.

The first few months were brutal. Finn was broken, smacked and shouted at. He was never violated, but the torture was just as bad. And then, something happened.

Devitt never quite figured out what set him off. But a few weeks before the event occured, he woke up in the chair and realized Finn was in danger. Some of the gang’s messages had seeped through, but not all of them.

On May 3, 1988, Devitt broke Finn’s left wrist and slipped out of the ropes. Creeping through the warehouse like a ninja, he searched for one thing in particular; the medical ward. That’s where they kept the emetic poison and the key to the weapons cabinet.

Neither of them knew how many people died. The real answer was a lot; Devitt preferred not to think about it, and Finn had no memory of the incident.

After that, a power shift occurred. A new gang was formed by Devitt and three other “foreigners”: two Tongans named Fale Simitaitoko and Tama Tonga, along with an American named Karl Anderson. The first few months were just the four of them, but other members joined soon after. They called themselves the Bullet Club for no reason other than it sounded cool.

At the end of every day, Devitt would go back to their first apartment and loosen up, putting Finn back in control. The young man had no memory of the day’s events at first, trauma still coursing through Devitt’s veins. As he recovered, Finn got more information. Things would come to him in pieces, events of the outside world.

The gang never killed unless they had to. That was Finn’s one request, and Devitt honored it with his life. Looking back, it was the one thing they ever agreed on.

Change soon hit the Bullet Club, and it hit them _hard_. Feeling Devitt had gone soft (and having no idea he was an alter), gang member AJ Styles staged a coup alongside Karl Anderson. Fale and Tama surrendered themselves as a show of good faith, giving the Irishman enough time to run. And run they did.

At 3 in the morning, a bleary-eyed man in a leather jacket stumbled into a Florida airport. Fergal Devitt became Finn Bálor with nothing to his name and $50 in his pocket. The alter in his mind finally gave himself a alias, and the two of them headed out to find work.

While Devitt feared and disapproved of it, Finn was drawn to police work. He got a job in Orlando, cutting his teeth to make a fresh start. He was scrappy and well-spoken, a mixture of the two alters. Devitt only came out once or twice a week, letting his host live the dream.

After a couple of years, however, things turned on their head again. In the summer of 2015, Finn was dragged outside one day after work. Two cops working the front desk beat him to a pulp, accusing the Irishman of flirting with their male friend.

The next thing Finn remembered was waking up in a hotel room with ice on his forehead. Devitt was silent, hinting at nothing. The two cops in question were dead, killed in self-defense by the Bullet Club’s former leader.

While the case was ruled as self-defense, they both needed to leave the city behind. This prompted the fateful move to Vegas, where everything changed for Finn and Devitt.

“You can’t say anything to them.” That was the very first thing Finn said. Until the Seth Rollins incident, Devitt obliged. But that doesn’t mean he stopped listening.

Devitt knew Hunter was corrupt from the start. He begged Finn to let him do something. The Irishman refused; here in Vegas, they were going to play it safe. Here in Vegas, they were going to be nobodies.

That was the plan, anyway. But the anger Devitt had vented through the Bullet Club was beginning to build again. Working off of limited information didn’t help matters any.

Finn didn’t remember much from that day. Just the bomb defusal and bonding with Seth over lo mein. As he stepped into the apartment, his vision slipped back into blackness. The blackness that was Devitt’s domain.

Settling onto the sofa, Devitt exhaled. He felt jittery, which was nothing new. He was angry; angry at Hunter, angry at Seth, angry at Finn, and angry at himself.

It should have been simple: kill Seth as a message. But then Finn had gotten control, calmed the situation down long enough for it to resolve. This had caused two things to occur.

They would never trust him again, for one. Finn would get over it, but Devitt wouldn’t. He didn’t forget a face or name, even ones relayed through the host. The other was more complicated.

Seth...he had cared for Finn, legitimately tried to help him. And that made Devitt feel something...love.

He’d been gay for years; Finn did not share such affections. Bringing his knees up to his chest, Devitt swore under his breath. The anger in him was rising.

“Why is life so complicated?” Pulling his arms from the sleeves of their leather jacket, Devitt wrapped it over his shoulders. While Finn continued to be himself, the former Bullet Club leader had two goals. He would share a kiss with Seth...and then, he would make up for years of lost time and die.


End file.
